Know the Facts
by pandanarchy
Summary: An AU, Basically about Yata and Fushimi when they were in high school. It shows their friendship and how they got into certain habits. I got the idea of using "facts" from Fifty Truths (a DRRR fic). Rated M for language, I guess, and I don't know what else is going to happen.
1. Chapter 1

1. Yata always had bruises

The day was pale and miserable and everything around them seemed to have taken on a grey tone. Dark grey clouds loomed threateningly on the horizon as if the weather was holding a personal grudge. Through the large glass window, Yata could see the weather forecast on the news predicted the next few days were only going to be even more miserable. Sighing heavily, he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand.

In his other hand, he carried a bag of groceries. Without pausing to watch the rest of the news, he began to amble back to where he figured Fushimi would be waiting by now. He'd barely made it to the street corner when a voice yelled out furiously from behind him, "Hey!"

Shoes scuffed the pavement and Yata looked over his shoulder casually. His eyes widened when he recognised the squashed face glaring back at him. _I thought he was down for good. Damn._ "What the fuck do you want now?" he demanded, his eyebrows knitting and deepening and semi-permanent scowl he wore.

"A rematch!" the guy shouted, pointing a stubby finger Yata. His lip was dribbling blood down his chin; his right eye swollen shut and already developing a purple bruise.

_And he still wants more? Well I won't hold back this time._ Yata dropped the bag and rushed the guy, twisting mid-stride to kick him in the shin. As he stumbled, Yata dug his elbow into the small of his back, making sure he fell face first into the concrete. He drew back his leg to kick the guy in the side, but a fist came out of nowhere, aiming for his cheek.

He ducked and moved backwards, raising his fists and growling curses at the newcomer. _They must be in this together. That cheating bastard._ The first three punches Yata threw were easily dodged and the fourth barely grazed the lanky guy's jaw. The guy grinned at him tauntingly, only pissing him off even more. He swore angrily, advancing in a flurry of kicks that were simply swatted away.

The original squashed-face guy was on his feet again now, although slightly unsteady. Yata barely had time to catch his breath before his arms were caught in a vice-like grip. He struggled, but he couldn't free himself. _If it had just been the one guy..._ The lanky guy was on him now, his fists almost as fast as his dodging. Yata's stomach ached and he wondered if he had internal bleeding.

2. Sometimes they didn't eat enough

Eventually, the two thugs left Yata curled up on the sidewalk, arms wrapped protectively around his stomach. _At least they didn't kick me in the balls._ He clambered to his feet, feeling the signs of exhaustion setting in. Streetlights began to flicker on as the sun decided to desert the sky. Yata cursed at the spot where he'd dropped the bag of groceries. Obviously it was gone now.

Dragging his feet dejectedly, he cut through the nearest cramped alleyway, kicking up discarded flyers that nobody had ever paid attention to even when they'd been stapled to the telephone poles. Almost in time with his footsteps, his stomach rumbled quietly.

"Hey," he mumbled, greeting Fushimi when he spotted him lazing against a street sign on the corner. Even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't have raised a hand to wave. His joints ached and he was tired beyond the point of being tired.

"Did you get the food?" Fushimi asked, glancing up from his fingernails now that something more interesting had finally arrived. One look at Yata told him the answer. "I guess not," he sighed. Standing up straight, he towered over his friend. He often made jokes about it, but even he could see now wasn't the time for that. Besides, he was hungry. "I'm going home," he announced, brushing past Yata without another word.

Yata decided to follow suit and head home, willing there to be a can of soup left in the cupboard. Even if it was tomato, at this point he didn't care. Navigating the streets during the night was about the same as during the day. He knew if he avoided the alleys from here, he'd get home without any more trouble.

Knocking on the door would have been pointless since he lived on his own. Fumbling, he retrieved his keys from his pocket and let himself in, making a B-line for the under-stocked kitchen. He released a huff of breath somewhere between a sigh and a groan and slammed the cupboard door closed. _Toast it is, then._

3. They both hated Literature class

Fushimi's elbow was propped up on the edge of his desk, his palm simultaneously supporting and squashing his cheek. His slender fingers held a blue biro that doodled aimlessly in his notebook. He wore the same bored expression as most of his classmates.

Every now and then he would glance out the window or remind himself not to drool. His eyes were trained on the blackboard, but his brain refused to absorb the information. It was just a mass of jumbled letters that seemed more like a foreign language at the moment. He could pass all the exams, but it didn't mean he liked the class.

On the other side of the classroom, Yata was in the same boat – the _SS. Literature Hatred_ – except he wasn't passing any of the exams. And he wasn't even looking at the blackboard. His head was resting on the desk and he was snoring lightly. The guy next to him had learnt the hard way not to wake him up.

When the teacher called on Fushimi to answer a question, regardless of whether he was paying attention or not, he usually gave the correct answer. When she called on Yata, he usually stammered something incoherent, made a little squeaking noise, and abruptly sat down again. The other students laughed at him for it once. _Once._

4. Yata had too much time on his hands

While Fushimi was studious and had maxed out the amount of classes he could take, Yata was content to scrape by with the bare minimum. His school days were divided into two – half the day consisted of being bored, the other half consisted of wondering what to do.

The first few months were spent trying to pick fights with every student who asked "What class do you have next?" He soon grew bored of that and decided to pick up a hobby. The only problem was that nothing seemed to really interest him. He found basketball boring, and he was too short to play anyway. He didn't have the patience or the creativity for art. He couldn't cook to save his life. Occasionally, he found a book to read, but it was rare. He refused to study with Fushimi.

And then he discovered baseball.

Baseball was great. He went to every match their school hosted, and sat in whenever the team held practice sessions. He loved the roles the players held, the way the ball travelled, all the different elements involved. He didn't own a TV, so he went into the electronics store sometimes just to watch baseball. It took weeks, but he saved up enough money and bought his own metal baseball bat.

After shyly making friends with some of the team members, he finally worked up the nerve to ask the coach if he could join the team. The coach admired Yata's enthusiasm and agreed.

5. He sucked

Oh boy, did he suck. But at least he knew he sucked. He played a grand total of two matches, was accused of being the reason for the team's defeat, and was promptly kicked off the team.

It didn't matter, he still loved baseball.

Yata knew he wasn't really talented at anything. He wasn't like Fushimi, who could always effortlessly get good grades. Even though he felt like a failure, he still kept trying.


	2. Chapter 2

6. Fushimi hated the rain

The bell that signalled the day's end rang out through the halls. Everybody stood up at once, the silence suddenly filled with chairs clattering, people chattering and teachers trying to shout last minute instructions for homework. The crowd was more like a swarm as the students filed out the rusty school gates.

Fushimi eyed the dark grey clouds with a certain level of detest. Being the "kind-hearted" and "generous" friend that he was, he'd leant his umbrella to that idiot Yata last week. Unfortunately, said idiot had completely forgotten to return it. _It really figures._ Now, with the scent of oncoming rain sticking to his skin, he wished he'd made Yata walk home in that storm.

"Hey!" the aforementioned umbrella-thief greeted him at the gate, an unusually cheerful expression on his dirt smeared face. Fushimi didn't even have to ask how that dirt had gotten on his cheek; it was probably from another fight.

"You've got dirt on you," he pointed out in reply, lifting a slender finger to prod Yata's cheek. The shorter boy shied away, trying to mask his wincing. "Hmph." _So he's hiding his bruises now._ "Not that I care," Fushimi brushed it off with a vague sigh, shouldering past Yata to get out the gate. "I'm going home before it rains."

"What about groceries?" Yata asked, trailing after him, still brimming with excitement for whatever reason. Fushimi waved his hand, indicating his lack of interest. _Groceries can wait. _He could feel the first few sprinkles of rain coming from the sky and it made him shudder involuntarily.

How fast he walked didn't really make any difference; he couldn't outrun the rain. Yata was still tagging along, blabbering about baseball, which Fushimi had even less interest in than the groceries at this point. The clouds were getting darker and the air was getting cooler. _Not a good sign. _The spattering of raindrops was becoming heavier. Fushimi held up a palm, droplets landing on his palm, and glared. He could feel his hair starting to plaster itself to his forehead. Yata kept talking about baseball, seemingly oblivious to the rain. _Does that kid ever think about anything else?_

"Keep up," Fushimi said, increasing his pace to a light jog. Yata's legs were way shorter than his, and he knew the boy could never keep up otherwise. The huddled under the closest bus shelter just in time to witness the downpour, rather than become drenched by it. "I really hate the rain," he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

7. They had their arguments

Yata's fist slammed down on the desk, making Fushimi wonder how the desk didn't just cave in on itself. "I told you that's not how it works!" he shouted, growling through clenched teeth.

"Then why don't you explain it to me again," Fushimi said calmly, uncrossing his lanky arms. "Because I still don't understand." That would make it their third time having this conversation.

"That's because you're an idiot!" Yata snapped, his chair scraping the ground as he forced himself to sit down again. He sat tensely at his desk, as if he might leap up again at any given moment.

"Am I really?" Fushimi sighed, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and trying to ignore some of the stares the other classmates were giving them. He didn't care about their opinions; he just didn't really want their attention.

"Shortstop gets more balls than the other bases, that's a fact," Yata continued, his brows still furrowed, "because most batsmen are right-handed, so the ball is usually hit in that direction."

"I really don't care anymore." Fushimi was already opening his Calculus book.

8. Fushimi didn't get video games

It had taken a few days but the weather had finally cleared, and they celebrated by clambering up the narrows stairs to each lunch on the building's rooftop. Yata yawned and stretched himself out on the bench, resting his head the schoolbag he didn't take much care of. Fushimi could see the corners of his books poking out the small hole in the side, and he had to smile. Sometimes his friend didn't seem to take anything seriously. Except for baseball – that he did take _too_ seriously. Fushimi watched Yata laze around for a moment, wondering how he could act so careless towards his education, even if it was something as small as his schoolbag.

Rolling his eyes at Fushimi – who was taking his usual time eating his food – Yata reached behind his head, rummaging around in his frayed schoolbag to produce a handheld game consol. While he'd had to pay from his own pocket for his baseball bat, this had been a present from his parents a few years ago. There was no way he'd have the patience to save up for something like that. _Well, maybe I could if I starved myself or some shit like that._

Bleeps and bloops drifted over from Yata's game and Fushimi tried to ignore them by concentrating on what was left of his rice and skimming over his messy History notes. He kind of wished he'd been born with neater handwriting, but he was glad he wasn't Yata – that boy often had marks deducted from his essays because the teachers had trouble deciphering his scrawl.

The bleeping and blooping was gradually increasing in volume, and Yata's facial expression was somewhere between intense and hilarious. Fushimi gave up, packing his belongings away and slinking over to his friend. "What're you playing?" he asked, squinting at the badly lit screen.

Yata didn't answer him for a moment, his fingers violently mashing the buttons. "Idiot, you made me fuck up and I died!" he snapped, sitting up so suddenly that Fushimi had to jerk backwards to avoid head-butting him. Fushimi cocked an eyebrow, again wondering what kind of game he was playing. Yata tossed him the console, indicating that he should have a turn.

Fumbling to catch it, Fushimi pressed the A button and attempted to play the game. He didn't last 10 seconds. "This is stupid," he commented, tossing it back to Yata.

9. Yata had trouble talking to girls

A girl stood at the top of the stairs, silently watching the two boys bickering about a videogame for a little while. Yata was attempting to defend it but Fushimi was easily shooting down all his arguments. To her, they seemed like polar opposites; Yata with his raised voice and sharp hand gestures, and Fushimi with his calm tone and often condescending stare. She didn't understand how their friendship worked but she admired it.

Fushimi happened to glance up at that moment, spotting the girl. "Hey," he greeted, beckoning to her. _Doesn't she know it's rude to eavesdrop?_ She stumbled over and he suppressed a sigh. _What now?_

"I'd like to talk to Yata," she declared in a small voice, nervously glancing at the boy. Fushimi rolled his eyes. _Good luck with that. _He stood without a word, giving them enough distance so their conversation would be private. His eyes glossed over the girl. He wasn't stupid – he knew what was going on here. But she was too mediocre-looking to evoke any form of jealousy from him.

"Uh, um..." Yata stammered for a second, feeling his face flush red. He avoided the girl's gaze, trying to remember where he recognised her from. _Class, maybe?_ She stood a few feet away from him, waiting for him to speak, but he really had no idea what to say. _What does she want with me, anyway?_

"I'd like to talk to you," she repeated, staring him down.

He felt his blush deepen, his words catching in his throat. "I, uh..." He wanted to clear his throat. His mouth was dry. His palms were sweaty. His knees were weak. His arms were heavy. The silence between them carried an uncertain weight that was almost suffocating. He glanced at Fushimi and could tell he was laughing silently. Scowling, Yata just wanted the girl to come out with whatever it was she wanted to say. "Yeah, so talk!" he snapped, knowing he was being unnecessarily rude.

"I-" she stopped herself short, tears brimming in her eyes. _Shit, did I make her cry? My bad. _She shook her head. "Oh, nevermind!" She ran to the stairs, past Fushimi who wasn't bothering to contain his laughter now.

10. Fushimi tried not to start fights

Fushimi had every intention of going straight home after school. He was determined to catch up on the sleep he'd lost finishing his assignments at the last minute. But he wouldn't tell Yata that. If Yata wanted to believe his friend was a "model student"...Well, who was he to correct him?

Just in the last few hours, Fushimi felt like the bags under his eyes had somehow gotten heavier. He was looking forward to a long nap as he exited the school grounds. A group of angry looing guys, from the year above him were loitering near the gate. One of them actually tried to trip him, but his reflexes were too fast. He smiled. "Can I help you with something?"

A finger was pointed at his chest. "You're messing with my sister!" The guy's tone screamed _I'm an idiot looking for someone to beat up._ "You made her cry!"

"Excuse me?" Fushimi asked, a low chuckle escaping him. _Some people are just so dense._ "You've got the wrong guy. You want Misaki Yata." He had no problem virtually handing his friend over on a silver platter. Yata got into so many fights, he wouldn't be able to keep track of what any of them were over.

A clenched fist grabbed the front of his uniform, attempting to lift him from his feet. However, Fushimi was taller than his attacker. _A foolish mistake. I wish they'd found Yata before me, but whatever._ He curled his hand into a fist and introduced it to the guy's nose.

As the guy stumbled backwards, clutching his leaking nose, his group of lackeys did nothing but gawk at the sight of all that blood. _They've obviously never been in a real fight. I wonder what they were hoping to accomplish today._ Fushimi brushed the dirt from his uniform, relieved no blood had stained it. He glared at the group, readjusting his glasses. "I'm going home now. Don't even think about following me."


	3. Chapter 3

11. Yata was the one who started fights

"Tch." Yata scowled at one of the resident douche bags who were eyeing his baseball bat. "You want something?" His grip on the bat tightened as his eyebrows knitted together, his knuckles whitening. "What? Nothing to say?" He hadn't really used his bat for violence, but he was pretty prepared to.

The guy gawking at him had greasy blonde hair and an inability to grow proper facial hair. His chin was patchy and it made Yata want to puke. "Well?" he demanded, tapping his foot impatiently. "If you ain't got anything to say, quit staring like a jackass." The guy opened his mouth, but at this point Yata was sick of waiting for an answer. He'd been on edge lately and was itching for some stress relief.

His baseball bat collided with the guy's shin with a solid sound, sweeping him to the ground. Not wasting another second, Yata brought his foot down on the small of the guy's back, evoking a satisfying grunt. He raised his bat in both hands, ready to crack it across the guy's shoulder blades. Unless it was a life or death situation, he'd probably never actually go for a guy's head.

"Are you done?" Fushimi asked, appearing out of nowhere. He wore the same bored expression he always had, grocery bags dangling from his arms. Yata's bat froze in midair, giving the pathetic guy just enough time to scramble to his knees. "Let's go," Fushimi commanded, prodding Yata with an elbow.

"I'm not done here!" Yata argued, kicking the guy in the side and knocking him to the ground again.

"Yes you are," Fushimi snapped, already walking away. His patience had been running thin lately too, and all he really wanted to do was go home. He didn't have time to stand around waiting for Yata to finish beating the shit out of some random loser who'd looked at him the wrong way. If his friend wasn't coming with him, he'd just leave him there. He couldn't even pretend he was pleased when Yata kicked the guy one last time and jogged to catch up with him.

12. Fushimi's bedroom was the hottest room in his house

The ceiling fan was spinning slowly, creaking with every rotation. The air it created wasn't even close to being cool enough, but it was already on the highest setting, so Fushimi didn't bother trying to do anything about it. He lay on his bed flat on his back, arms folded behind his head with his eyes closed. He heaved a sigh. He was glad it wasn't raining, but the warm weather made him feel unmotivated. It was midday and he had no plans to move.

His desk sat by the open window, the edges of the curtains blowing in with the faint breeze and grazing the piles of textbooks stacked on it. But he usually didn't use his desk to actually study. He did most of his studying sprawled on the bed or on the floor, where he could easily roll over and fall asleep if he got bored.

His glasses sat by his phone on his bedside table. Without them, he felt uncomfortable, maybe even slightly vulnerable, even in the moments before sleep. His phone buzzed irritatingly against the hard wood, but he ignored it. _It's probably just Yata with another dumb joke._ He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. It continued to buzz for a moment, so he figured he'd better answer.

"Notes for the test..?" he mumbled, frowning and echoing his friend's rushed words. "I have no idea what you're talking about." _Sorry, Yata. You're on your own._ His limbs were heavy and he just wasn't in the mood to think, let alone get up and look for his notes. Forgetting he was still on the phone, he groaned agitatedly at his ceiling fan, willing it to move faster.

13. Yata's bedroom was always messy

"What's up?" Yata asked his friend, perched on the very edge of his bed. His sheets were a mess and his pillow was lying forgotten on the floor – somewhere. He ran a hand through his tangled hair, staring absently at the blank wall opposite.

The curtains were drawn, sealing in the cool air and protecting his room against the relentless sunlight. He stood in a stretch, moving between the piles of various things he'd dumped on the floor. The lights were off and everything was blurring into the shadows. He almost stumbled over his school bag.

"Oh," he replied to Fushimi's comment about _the fucking heat._ "Yeah, I guess it is pretty hot." Hot enough that Yata was only wearing his pants and a loose tank top. They both remained silent for a moment, but they both knew the other was still on the line. Yata kicked his sneakers under his bed, struggling to find something else to say.

"I heard a joke the other day-" he began. Fushimi's line went dead.

14. When they had the money, they ate lunch together

They'd already been waiting for 20 minutes when the bowls were finally placed on the bench in front of them, steam wafting up invitingly. Yata immediately broke his chopsticks apart with great enthusiasm, and began stuffing his face. "So, who's paying this time?" he asked, his voice muffled from his mouth being half full of noodles.

Fushimi rolled his eyes, taking a more delicate approach to eating. When he was hungry, you didn't get between him and his food, but that didn't mean he didn't use his manners. "Apparently I am," he sighed. _I always end up paying._

Every time they ate out, they always ate at the same ramen bar and they always ordered the same thing. As a result, the chef knew them all too well and they were able to get almost as good a discount as the staff. Fushimi tried to ignore the faint slurping noises Yata was emitting as he drained the broth from his bowl. He had to admit though, the ramen was good.

While Yata and one of the waiters enthused over baseball cards – _Really? Since when were baseball cards considered cool? _– Fushimi forked out the money for the meal, leaving his wallet alarmingly empty. He huffed, suddenly irritated despite his full stomach, and kicked Yata's stool out from under him. "You're going to have to reimburse me," he said slowly, the gleam in his eye leaving no room for arguments.

But Yata, being the dumbass he was, decided to try and argue anyway. Using the chair as a crutch, he hauled himself to his feet. With an unnecessarily loud voice and clenched fists, he rebutted, "You're the one who-"

"Take it outside, boys," the chef interrupted, dismissively waving his hand at them. He really did know them all too well.

Fushimi sighed, his hand reaching for the fabric of Yata's shirt. He secured a hold on his collar and proceeded to drag him outside, not even sparing the chef an apologetic glance. "Do you want us to get banned again?" he asked quietly, dumping his friend on the sidewalk.

"No," Yata grunted as his butt hit the kerb. A couple of months ago, he'd started a fight in the ramen bar, dragged Fushimi into it, and they both ended up breaking a couple of tables and a window. On top of being banned from setting foot near the shop for five weeks, they'd also had to pay for the damages. "But you said you'd pay."

_Stubborn as ever._ Fushimi smiled thinly. "And now I'm saying you're going to pay me back."

15. Yata hated getting his hair cut

When he was much younger, Yata's mother had cut his hair for him. It was short enough that it hadn't mattered if she'd made mistakes (which she often had). But since starting middle school, she'd decided she wouldn't let anyone but a professional hairdresser come near his hair with a pair of scissors. She said people would judge him for it. Not that he really cared.

It was always a pain in the ass to get his hair cut. He had to call ahead, make a booking, sit in a chair for half an hour. And he could never fully get across what he wanted done. He always choked on his own words, blushing and sinking into the stiff-backed chair, ending up paying the woman too much considering how little she'd cut off.

Yata was on the way to a hairdresser's appointment, ambling down the street, stalling for time. He figured his baseball bat would be an unwelcome sight in this part of town (especially since he'd had trouble cleaning that last bit of blood from the grip) so he'd opted to leave it at home, now feeling strangely naked without it. _I guess this is how Fushimi feels without his glasses._

He sat uncomfortably in the hairdresser's chair, his hands fidgeting with the cord of his headphones. The woman behind him ran a comb through his hair, laughing and saying something that he didn't quite catch. A shudder ran down his spine. He didn't really like people touching his hair at all. He stuttered out half a sentence, blushing until his cheeks almost matched his hair colour, and gave up. _She can do whatever she wants._ But he had the feeling deep in his gut that he'd regret that later.

Staring wide-eyed into the mirror, Yata let out a strangled cry about fifteen minutes later. The hairdresser took a step back, trying not to skewer him with the scissors when he stood abruptly. "What..." _What the fuck did you do to my hair?_ He'd never considered himself fussy about things like this. That was more for girls. But..._his hair._

Grumbling the entire way home, Yata wanted to hide his face – no, hide his entire head, in shame.

**A/N: So many inaccuracies, but I don't think I even care anymore. AU where they actually gave a shit about school kind of? Thanks to the people who favourited!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update! I went to Japan and then had exams etc.**

16. So Yata bought his first beanie

He considered skipping school, decided against it, reconsidered it, and ended up going anyway. He hadn't actually skipped a full day in a couple of months, and he felt weirdly obligated to show up even if he was embarrassed about his hair.

Fushimi met him at the gate, giving him a long stare before bursting into laughter. Yata punched his friend in the arm, trying to hide his flaring red cheeks behind a string of muttered curses and empty threats. He could hear other students laughing from behind him, and he tried to convince himself that they probably weren't actually laughing at him. He was blushing so hard his ears were beginning to turn red too.

"So...what are you going to do?" Fushimi asked during their lunch break, trying not to laugh again. He was smirking, watching the shorter boy fidget with the ends of his hair, as he'd been doing almost all morning. _Misaki, you're so pathetic._

"What do you think I should do?" Yata asked with a resigned sigh, his hands falling into his lap. He'd planned on watching the baseball team practice today, but he wouldn't dare show up now.

"You should shave it all off," Fushimi said thoughtfully, tapping his chin.

"That would look even worse!" Yata snapped. _If anything could even look worse than this._ He glared at Fushimi intensely, hoping his expression would silence his giggling. "Take this seriously!"

"Who even cares?" Fushimi asked with a disinterested shrug.

After school finished, they decided to walk home together, now arguing about whether or not Yata should buy a wig. Most people were finishing work, so it was home time for everyone. The main street was crowded as usual, with people bumping into the two boys every couple of feet. Yata trained his eyes on the ground, entirely uninterested in the plain faces surrounding him.

Yata suddenly ran into something solid, knocking him back a couple of steps. He looked up to see a tall man who'd stopped in the middle of the footpath. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, raising his voice over the rest of the mindless chatter. The man ignored him, fiddling with his mobile phone and joining the rest of the crowd who were gathered at the crosswalk, waiting for the signal to cross. Yata growled under his breath until Fushimi tapped him on the shoulder.

"What?" Yata snapped, turning with a scowl already on his face. Fushimi just sighed and pointed. Yata had to squint to see past the glare on the glass, but he could see it was..._a hat store?_ "What the fuck do I care?" he asked, turning away.

"Your hair," Fushimi said simply. He wanted to punch his friend for being so slow sometimes.

"Oh!" Yata said, snapping his fingers and weaving between other pedestrians to get to the storefront.

17. Fushimi wasn't afraid to speak his mind

"How does it look?" Yata asked, feeling stupid and girly again. _Acting like my fucking name actually suits me or something. Fuck this._

"Stupid," Fushimi replied, barely glancing at his friend. "But slightly less stupid than before," he added after a pause. The beanie Yata had on was one of the cheapest in the store, grey in colour. "Just hurry up and buy something so we can leave."

"But which one?" Yata asked, sounding confused as he held up a dark blue beanie in his left hand and a black one in his right hand. _I am not a fucking girl._

"All of them. None of them. I really don't care." Fushimi was losing interest quickly. And he hadn't had much interest to begin with. It was amusing to watch Yata fret for a little while, but even that got old. He didn't want to hang around listening to his friend whining all afternoon.

Yata sighed and ended up forking the money over for the grey one, since he was already wearing it. They exited the store and he felt a little less self conscious. It would probably only be temporary until his hair grew out, but he could get used to wearing beanies. _Beanies...what a stupid fucking word._

18. Fushimi knew his way around a deck of cards

Sport election time was coming up, and the classroom was buzzing with conversation about it. Yata and Fushimi sat on their desks up the back, actively avoiding joining in with the useless discussion. Everybody already knew Yata would choose baseball despite not being able to play, and Fushimi would opt out of sport altogether.

Fushimi was shuffling a deck of cards, from hand to hand, back and forth methodically. He'd been considering teaching Yata how to play, but he decided he didn't have the patience to deal with that. So instead of doing anything constructive, he just sat there shuffling them.

"Hey," Yata asked, grabbing his attention. "What do you even do while we play sport?" It had never occurred to him to ask before.

"I play cards," Fushimi replied, smirking.

"What kind of bullshit answer is that?" Yata asked, eyeing the deck suspiciously. Card games were fine in his books, as long as gambling wasn't involved. He thought that was a complete waste of time. He knew Fushimi sometimes played the older students for money, but he held his tongue about it.

"I'm actually pretty good," Fushimi continued, flipping over an Ace. _Why am I boasting to Misaki? He doesn't understand the finer details of the trade._

"You should learn magic tricks instead," Yata joked, chuckling. "Stop wasting your time with pointless shit."

"You should quit baseball," Fushimi retorted, snapping the deck together. "Maybe stop wasting everyone's time."

19. Yata could count the number of time's he'd punched Fushimi on one hand

The number was five. If he counted aloud and folded his fingers to match the numbers, it made a fist similar to the one he connected with Fushimi's jaw now. The taller boy fell backwards off his desk, holding a hand to his face and narrowing his eyes at Yata.

There was no need to ask "What was that for?" Fushimi knew well enough that he'd crossed the line, but that was part of the fun of being friends with Misaki. It was always so easy to cross lines, and so amusing to watch his reactions, even if they involved taking a hit to the face every now and then.

He could hit Yata back. It would be too easy, but it was a waste of energy and the teacher was already looking their way, words of caution already falling from his mouth. So instead, Fushimi righted his chair and wordlessly sat in it, staring at Misaki until his unwavering gaze forced the boy to calm down.

"Do you feel better now?" Fushimi asked, unable to hide his smile. Yata only responded with a glare.

20. Fushimi's ambitions were confusing

He wanted to do something worthwhile, but he couldn't pin an exact profession. When he looked around the classroom, his eyes critiqued the carefree faces around him, and he predicted probably three-quarters of his class would wind up in the same dead-beat, low-income job for the rest of their lives. He knew that wouldn't be him.

Studying and schoolwork held no interest for him. Calculus was only mildly fun because he was the top of the class, not that he boasted about that very often. As previously mentioned, he passed all his tests with flying colours and minimal effort, so it wasn't as if he was an underachiever.

It was just that...for all his desire for a decent purpose, he lacked direction. Politics would be easier than a walk in the park for him (in this part of town, walking through the park was actually pretty dangerous), but again he wasn't interested in the slightest. He wanted to make a difference in a different way. He thought even becoming the CEO of a profitable company would become very boring very quickly.

If he took a break from studying, he'd spend time researching different kinds of intellectual jobs. He thought scientific fields were cool, but he didn't want to waste so many years in university just to gain the right prerequisites.

So for now, he gave up trying to understand his future. He figured he had plenty of time. And whenever someone asked "What are you going to do in the future?" he'd tell them he wanted to be their family's personal funeral director.


	5. Chapter 5

21. Sometimes it was easier to scare Yata than he liked to admit

In the distance, the school bell rang out shrilly, releasing the students from another tiring day. Yata and Fushimi, however, had decided they wouldn't miss out on much if they ditched last period's Literature class, so they were already enjoying the freedom of the weekend.

Dozens of claw machines were lined against the poster covered wall, the colourful LED lights flashing on the fronts and the eyes of the stuffed animal prizes taunting the patrons. Electronic music attempted to set the mood, although it was difficult to hear over the beeping of machines and shouting of gamers. Fushimi hadn't been to the arcade in a while, and he'd forgotten how noisy it was.

Yata was practically bouncing with excitement, briefly motioning for Fushimi to follow as he disappeared behind a row of Pachinko machines. As Fushimi passed them, they lit up and their crappy speakers blared irritating music, hoping to tempt him, but he rolled his eyes. Even if he'd had the money to waste, he wouldn't have considered it.

"Hey, can we play this one next?" Yata called to him, forcing him to continue deeper into the arcade. The shorter boy was hovering in front of a shooting-type game. Images of blood and zombies flashed across the screen, which didn't seem all that appealing to Fushimi.

"I don't know, _can_ you play it?" Fushimi teased with a smirk, slowly folding his arms across his chest to indicate he had no intention of playing. He also wanted to comment on the fact that Yata wasn't known for his accuracy in aiming, turning this whole exercise into an even bigger waste of money.

"What are you an English teacher or something?" Yata snapped, already turning to insert some of his spare change into the machine. There was a click and a soft whirring sound and the controls beside the gun flickered and lit up, ready for action.

As expected, the on-screen character began their journey in a dull, shadowy room. With the curtains tattered and torn and the bookshelves virtually reduced to rubble, it was obvious that something unpleasant had happened here. As they progressed down the eerily empty hallway, bloodstains on the cracked tiles became evident and the white-washed walls took on an unpleasant hue that no longer resembled white. Even Fushimi had to admit the graphics were pretty detailed.

Creepy ambient sounds like creaking and scuffling occasionally came through the speakers, giving the illusion that the protagonist was being pursued by something, but unlike most arcade horror games where music was a big feature, everything else was silent. Well, silent other than the rest of the arcade. Yata focussed his eyes on the screen intently, his finger ready on the trigger and a bead of sweat dripping down his temple in anticipation.

His character rounded a corner and an undead monster jumped out of nowhere. Yata yelped and stumbled backwards, pulling the gun's cord slightly too far and consequently fumbling with the controls. He managed to recover and fire two shots – both of which predictably missed the target – but by then the zombie had already latched onto his character and "Game Over" was dripping in blood across the screen.

Fushimi clicked his tongue and shook his head slowly. "That was stupid," he murmured, although the arcade noise drowned him out and Yata, who was dropping more coins into the game, didn't hear a single word.

22. Yata was stubborn about the stupidest things

"This is your third time playing this game, Misaki," Fushimi pointed out. "If you couldn't get past the first stage the first two times, what makes you think you'll have better luck this time? You haven't improved at all. Actually, I think you've somehow gotten worse."

"You're ruining my concentration," Yata growled, slowly squeezing the trigger and hitting the on-screen enemy in the shoulder – not bad, but he'd been aiming for the head. "This would be a lot easier with two people playing, you know."

"I'm still not playing with you," Fushimi sighed, finally giving into exhaustion and sitting on a nearby stool. The wobbly legs didn't quite match his height, leaving him awkwardly hunched over as he forced himself to watch Misaki waste an excessive amount of ammunition on one enemy.

Fushimi didn't wear a watch, but he could pretty accurately guess the time with a swift glance around the place. There were significantly less customers than there had been earlier, which (to his relief) meant less noise as well. Some of the newer machines that were on timers were beginning to switch off or dim their lights, and the arcade atmosphere was slowly calming down. They'd ended up staying there much longer than he'd intended to. He supposed he could have left a long time ago, but it seemed like a lot of effort.

"Hey, boys, I'm going to have to ask you to leave now," the manager approached them warily, having already witnessed Yata's angry outburst at the "Game Over" screen.

"Like hell you are! I haven't beaten this damn game yet!" Yata argued, refusing to release the gun from his grip. He pulled the trigger, sending a bullet directly into the eye socket of the nearest zombie – his first decent shot of the afternoon. He cheered silently, moving to target the next one, but everything was moving at a faster pace now and he had difficulty locking on.

"The system will automatically shut off in a couple of seconds," the manager warned him. "You can always come back tomorrow and try again."

"No, we won't be coming back tomorrow," Fushimi interrupted, shuddering at the thought. If he saw Yata tomorrow, they'd be doing something _he_ wanted to do.

The game's screen abruptly fizzed out and faded to black, causing Yata to howl shamelessly in frustration. "I was winning that time, too!" Fushimi didn't bother to correct him.

23. Dogs didn't like Yata, and Yata didn't like dogs

Glistening puddles lined the streets, throwing off shimmering reflections of the street lights. The main street was rarely used by cars, but on the occasion that one did pass them, it would spray up a shower of dirty water which pattered against the disgruntled pedestrians. Being especially wary of this, Fushimi insisted that Yata walked on the side closest to the kerb.

Walking with his hands in his pockets, Fushimi barely listened to a word Yata said, as the boy still seemed to be complaining about that damn video game. He sighed, his breath creating a fine mist in front of his face. The groups of schoolgirls passing them seemed full of life, talkative and smiling despite the dreary weather. He eyed them off, unimpressed by any of them. They were just _too_ bubbly for his liking. Anyone like that would surely grow irritating sooner than the average person.

"You're not listening, are you?" Yata asked, a slightly defeated tone colouring his voice. "That's cool. I get it. Video games are stupid, right?"

"Not all of them," Fushimi replied, much to Yata's surprise. Yata's eyebrows shot upwards, hiding underneath the scratchy beanie he was still trying to get used to. He opened his mouth to ask what the taller boy meant, but Fushimi continued anyway. "I actually own a few computer games that I enjoy playing. I just don't really like...the games you like, Misaki."

Yata simply shrugged, about to brush it off when he was interrupted once more. He suddenly found his legs tangled, bound together by something, and he stumbled clumsily, tipping dangerously towards the concrete. Fushimi lazily reached out and caught his elbow, yanking him upright again. He looked down, confusion all over his face.

Beady black eyes almost completely hidden behind masses of white fluff stared back at him. A small dog bore its teeth at Yata, a pathetic growling sound coming from its throat. With its ears pricked up, it tried to take a step back to lower itself into the attacking position. However, its leash was still tangled around Yata's legs, so all the fluffy creature succeeded in doing was unbalancing the boy again.

Yata swayed, looking to Fushimi for support. Fushimi rolled his eyes and, emphasising the great effort it took him, slowly unwound the dog's leash. He reached out with a hand to the tiny canine, which didn't seem to fear him at all. Its nose wiggled while it considered his scent thoughtfully for a moment, and then it happily shoved its head into his open palm, panting and demanding affection.

"Why isn't it growling at you?" Yata demanded, glaring at the dog angrily. The dog responded to the loud noise by snarling at him – well, as well as a small dog could snarl, anyway. Yata flinched, his pride slightly wounded. The fact that a dumb mutt could would his pride so easily only added insult to injury.

"Can we get going now?" Yata asked, stubbornly crossing his arms and spinning so his back now faced Fushimi and the dog. Fushimi knew he was still scowling, even though it wasn't directed at anyone in particular.

"We have to find its owner," Fushimi said, slowly rising from his crouch. The little dog yapped at him, apparently irritated that petting time was over. He ignored it, glancing up and down the street, looking for signs that someone was searching for a run-away dog.

"Who says?" Yata grumbled, twisting his neck to peek at his friend over his shoulder. "It can probably find its own way home." Even over his shoulder, the curve of his cheek gave away his slight pout. Fushimi rolled his eyes again, snapping his fingers at the dog, but the dog ignored him, growling at Yata one final time before wandering off in the direction of the park. Fushimi shared a glance with Yata and shrugged as if to say 'I guess you were finally right about something.'

24. Fushimi was a non-participant when it came to sports

Today he decided he was going to buy root beer. He'd had it once before and he hadn't really liked it, but it was something to drink at least. While the other students were running the annual endurance test, Fushimi had decided to take a break – technically he'd decided not to participate at all – and stop in at the convenience store that was fairly close to the route. Glancing out the glass doors, he could see a sea of sports uniforms jogging past, and he smiled to himself, taking a sip of his drink.

He almost gagged, reminded of why he hadn't liked really it in the first place. But he'd used the last of his tangible money on it, so he figured he may as well drink it. He wasn't the richest kid in school, but he knew he had more money than Yata so he wasn't going to flaunt any sort of wastefulness. He strolled to the magazine section of the store, fingers tracing the front covers and eyes not really focussing on the words. Every now and then, he glanced out the doors to see if he could spot Yata passing by.

Even if the boy was ahead of him, he could easily catch up. It wasn't as if he was unfit, he just didn't like exerting that much energy without a reason. He'd gone to the effort of putting the sports uniform on, but that was as far as he would go; that was where he drew the line. He took another tentative sip of the distasteful liquid, suppressing a grimace. He'd have to remember not to buy it a third time.

Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of Yata's beanie bobbing up and down amongst the crowd, evidently not running with the front-runners. Fushimi didn't have to see Yata's face to know his emotions; he already knew the boy was ridiculously stubborn and competitive, and the way his arms were swinging gave hint of his determination. _To do what, I wonder? I hope he doesn't think he can win._

"You're not running this year?" the pimply clerk behind the counter asked, directing Fushimi's attention elsewhere. A friendly smile crinkled the corners of his eyes and he leant forwards on the counter, since there was no queue at that point in time. He'd obviously noticed Fushimi's uniform and made the connection.

"I never run," Fushimi said in his usual bored tone, draining the last of the root beer. He dumped the empty bottle into the trash can and wandered lethargically back onto the street, not intending on joining the rest of the group. Instead, he walked in completely the opposite direction, much to the dismay of the supervising teacher.

25. Fushimi hated nicknames

"Hey Saru!"

Less than 10 seconds after opening his mouth, the junior student sincerely wished he hadn't. He found himself pinned roughly against the wall, with two fists balled in the fabric of his shirt and his feet were unable to touch the ground. He whimpered as his body was slammed against the bricks.

"Don't call me that," Fushimi threatened in a low tone, his eyes gleaming. He slammed the boy against the wall one last time, for good measure.

"I just...Yata calls you..." The boy was dropped to the ground, visibly distraught. His right hand clutched at his ribs, but Fushimi doubted he'd broken any bones.

"And you thought that meant you could too? Tch." Fushimi turned on his heel, leaving the boy in the dirt. _Damn that Misaki._


End file.
